


Manservant, Advisor, and Friend

by nightmare_kisser



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Being a Good Friend, Implied Relationships, Kiss on the Cheek, M/M, Talking Arthur out of being a martyr, Tending to Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmare_kisser/pseuds/nightmare_kisser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I implore you to listen to reason: send someone else to this fight. Sir Leon, Sir Percival; any of your knights but you, Arthur. Please. You don't know how it hurts me, seeing my closest friend be so stupid as to throw his life away time and time again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manservant, Advisor, and Friend

"God! Do you always have to be such a damn martyr, Arthur?" Merlin exclaims as he chases the king down the corridor, trying to catch hold of his wrist, his tunic, anything. "Plenty of men could go in your place, and they won't die, and even if they did, they aren't they king of Camelot!"

"I wouldn't expect you to understand the duty I hold to my crown and countrymen, _Merlin._ It is a sacrifice I have to make. And you're over exaggerating, _as per usual._ I'm not going to die. I know what I'm doing, and what my body can handle," Arthur retorts.

Finally, Merlin catches hold of Arthur's chain mail sleeve and gives it a good, harsh tug to draw his king back to him. He grips the blond by the shoulders and forces him to lock gazes. "You're still limping from the last battle, and the wound in your side is freshly stitched. You'll bleed out before the fight is over! _Please,_ Arthur, I implore you to listen to reason: send someone else to this fight. Sir Leon, Sir Percival; any of your knights but you, Arthur. Please. You don't know how it hurts me, seeing my closest friend be so stupid as to throw his life away time and time again."

Merlin's gaze is intense; his dark blues are wildly searching Arthur's, and for a split second, the king's resolve wavers. Percival is certainly the largest and strongest; Leon is certainly the oldest, most experienced; even Gwaine would give this foreign king a good beating, being a master of dodge-and-attack maneuvers. But in the end, Arthur knows it has to be him. Wounded or not, it must be. A king has to fight a king. Anything less looks cowardly.

Merlin purses his lips before tucking them into a hard, thin line. He releases Arthur's shoulders. "You're not going to even consider it, are you." It isn't a question. He curtly before gritting his teeth. Returning his eyes to Arthur's, he sends him a glare that is so unlike the dopey Merlin Arthur knows so well that it throws him off for another second, making two bouts of doubt within the span of three minutes. He blinks, watches Merlin's face. "Fine. Be the big, brave king and get yourself killed. But know that if you lose, there will be anarchy. Your men will avenge you, and then some. All Hell will break lose."

"But that… that can't happen!" Arthur flares, giving Merlin a shove. "Don't let them, Merlin, or I swear to God –"

"What? What will you do, if you're dead? Haunt us from the grave? You don't understand, Arthur, how much your people love you. They will go after any man, army, or kingdom who cuts you down, and they will do it without remorse. This is bigger than you. And with the state you're in, you're in no condition to fight. So back down, do you hear me? Back down, and send one of your best in your place. Or else what I say will come true," Merlin counters fluidly and strongly, his feet planted firmly on the stone floor, his hands into fists at his sides. He is the epitome of a solid stone wall. He is taking a stand, defying and advising his king, both at once.

The blond blinks, slow to smile. "I forget sometimes how very opposite a pushover you are," the king remarks. He sighs jaggedly and rubs his forehead with the arm on his good side of ribs, to prevent pulling on his stitches. "But you see, don't you, how other kingdoms will think be a coward for not fighting this on my own?"

"First of all, I think it stands in record that you are injured," Merlin snorts. "And second of all, who cares if they do? You people's opinions are what matter, not the rest of the world's. Because if you are called into question or challenged as a coward, then your people, your men, and you will prove the enemy wrong in a heartbeat. But that is on a better day, Arthur. Not now, not when you are flitting between life and death," he ends on a desperate, pleading note, stepping closer and placing both hands on either side of Arthur's face.

Arthur inhales deeply – painfully – and exhales bit by bit. He raises his hands to Merlin's, and slowly lowers them, giving the dark-haired man's fingers a squeeze. He smirks slightly. "How is it, whenever I am about to do something brash and foolish, it is you, of all people, the biggest fool I know, who is able to slap some sense into me?"

"Because you're a dollop-head, and I am actually the wisest person you will ever meet," Merlin shrugs, slipping his pale hands out of Arthur's. "Now turn around, come back with me to your chambers, and let me change your bandages, because all this has made you bleed again," he says, pointing to what he can see of Arthur's leg, his side not visible through heavy chain mail and a dark red tunic. "I'll send for whichever of your knights you need to fight for you, and you can hear of our victory in the morning." And he gives a reassuring smile, small but no less bright.

"All right, all right," Arthur relents as he uses Merlin as a crutch. Adrenaline gone, his leg is killing him and it's all he can do to stand, let alone walk. He leans against Merlin, arm around his shoulders, Merlin's hands protectively around Arthur's waist and gripping Arthur's arm slung over him, and together, they make their way back down the corridor. "I am half tempted to promote you to royal advisor, Merlin, if you keep this up."

"I will be honoured the day that happens, sire," Merlin replies with a smile.

"I said I was tempted. It's most likely never going to happen," Arthur says. "And that is a big _if,_ because sooner or later, you'll give me shitty advice and be deemed an idiot again."

"It's more of a _when,_ sire, because I fully intend to continue to be less of an idiot, mark me," Merlin assures with a slight giddiness in his tone that Arthur shoots a frown at.

"Oh, are you?" the blond muses. "That will be the day."

They are in Arthur's chambers again, and just for that remark, he's not laid as gently into his bed as he could have been.

"Hey, watch it! Wounded man, here!" Arthur protests, but Merlin says nothing as he helps the king out of his chain mail and lifts his shirt and tugs away his trousers to tend to his bandages. Arthur steadies himself, one hand on Merlin's shoulder, as Merlin changes out bandages with fresh cloth from Arthur's bedside table, pouring some of Gaius' cleansing tonic on the wound, making it sting, but clearing it of bacteria. "You know," Arthur comments through clenched teeth, "I almost wonder if fighting would have been less painful than this."

"Quit being such a baby," Merlin replies. "I'm almost done." He does the same to the sewn gash in Arthur's side and wraps the cloth 'round and over Arthur's shoulder before he replaces Arthur's clothing with fresh articles from his wardrobe. He dresses his king, lays him to bed, and asks, "Who will you be sending in your stead?"

"Make it Leon," Arthur murmurs. "We need an experienced fighter for this one."

"As you wish," Merlin says with a small, sarcastic bow. But before he takes Arthur's bloodied clothes to wash, he hesitates near Arthur's bedside and adds, "Thank you for listening to me. I don't know what I would – what _we would_ do without our once and future king."

The blond smiles up at his manservant and gestures with a hand for Merlin to come closer. Merlin leans down, a question on his face, and Arthur lifts his head to lay a peck on Merlin's cheek, his hand gripping the nape of Merlin's neck. "No, thank you for being such a good friend." Because he honestly loves it when Merlin defies him, ignoring his place as a servant, and speaks to Arthur as a friend, an equal, instead. Because if there were no titles of authority, it would be that way anyhow. And it's something Arthur respects.

"Anytime," Merlin replies softly, and he feels the coolness settle in as Arthur's removes his hand, and Merlin stands straight again. He leaves the room, closing the door behind him, Arthur's clothes in his hand.

Then he finds Sir Leon, speaks to him, and in the morning, Arthur wakes to breakfast and the news that Sir Leon was triumphant, just as Merlin said he would be.


End file.
